


Long way around

by negi



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Coping, Heart Transplant, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Character Death, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 12:23:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16597850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/negi/pseuds/negi
Summary: “You can’t do this to him,” Taeyong says. “And-- fuck, Doyoung, you’re smarter than this.” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “He’s not Hansol.”“I know that,” Doyoung snaps.“Do you?” Taeyong challenges.





	Long way around

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [jdd_vol1](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/jdd_vol1) collection. 



> __  
> **Prompt:**  
> 
>  _AU where Doyoung's boyfriend donated his heart and it ended up with Jaehyun. Doyoung tracks Jaehyun in order to meet whoever got his boyfriend's heart. Doyoung feels familiarity with Jaehyun but confuses if it's because of the donated heart, or because he's falling in love with Jaehyun._  
>   
>   
>  **WARNING:** though it never goes into detail, this fic does include death because of the nature of the prompt. i decided to use hansol as the heart donor rather than use a random name for a character who's supposed to mean something, since he left sm/nct in real life. i hope this does not cause any distress, but if you think it might, please do not read my fic! also, the original prompt requested for a T fic, so if anything here feels like it belongs to a higher rating, that's purely my mistake in judgement.  
>   
> title taken from the lyrics of jaehyun's "try again" smstation song.

Taeyong is calling again.

Doyoung watches his friend's name and picture flash across the screen of his phone left lying on the bed sheets just out of arm’s reach, vibrations muffled against the thick fabric of the duvet. He hates this duvet now-- hates the whole bed, in fact. It's too big. He can stretch his limbs out completely on either side and not touch another body no matter how desperately he claws his fingers at the cold linens. The bed is big enough to swallow him whole, but to his dismay, it never does.

Taeyong's image disappears, bumping the number of missed calls displayed on his lock screen up to 23. A few seconds later, and the phone goes black again.

Doyoung curls up under the godforsaken duvet and lets himself sink into a padded abyss.  
  
  
  
  
Surprisingly, Johnny is the first to resort to breaking into his apartment. Doyoung had expected Ten to scheme up something similar, maybe, but it’s Johnny who’s looking gently into his eyes as he blinks away the sleep from his afternoon nap (proceeding an even longer nap that morning. He finds himself not wanting to do anything but shut out the world and let time pass). Johnny pulls Doyoung into a sitting position in his spited bed and says a few words that Doyoung can’t be bothered to hear, but they weren’t directed at him anyway. Soon Taeyong comes into the bedroom with a tray of soup and crackers and a glass of steaming tea, and Yuta trails behind with a vase of bright yellow sunflowers. They all treat Doyoung so gently, urging him to eat and opening the curtains in the room for the first time in months, and Doyoung can’t decide if he’s grateful for the care or angry that he’s being pushed to move forward with his life.

“Taeyong says he’ll stock your fridge soon,” Johnny whispers, sitting next to Doyoung and touching his arm, “but you know the offer to stay with me is always open.”

Doyoung hasn’t spoken in so long that he almost forgot what he sounded like. “No,” he says quietly, voice rough. “This is our home.” A look of pain flashes across Johnny’s face before Doyoung realizes what he’d said. “Was our home,” he amends.

Johnny wraps Doyoung in a warm, comforting hug and the physical contact feels foreign and almost undesirable. “Please come to dinner tonight,” he says softly. “It won’t be anything big - just the four of us - but we’re worried about you.”

Taeyong sits on Doyoung’s other side. “You’ve been cooped up in here for too long,” he says. “You need friends right now.” Yuta reaches behind Taeyong to squeeze Doyoung’s shoulder, and this is probably all supposed to be reassuring but it just feels suffocating.

“Maybe,” Doyoung settles on, and they know that’s the best they’ll get out of him. They also know that if Doyoung keeps this up for much longer, Lucas won’t hesitate to barge in and physically drag him out of bed with clumsy but well-intended hands, and so Doyoung’s seclusion will soon come to an end regardless of if he joins them today or not. For now, they give him space.  
  
  
  
  
Six o’clock rolls around and Doyoung starts to get hungry. His appetite has dwindled drastically and the last time he remembers truly stuffing his face was at the funeral, when he was so emotionally battered from people giving him their condolences that he ate the whole evening just to seem busy and unapproachable. Still, sometimes ice cream or a bowl of soup isn’t enough to get him through the day, and he reluctantly drags himself out of bed when the hunger pains become too persistent to ignore.

The wooden floor is cold against his bare feet. Taeyong must have cleaned before Johnny woke him earlier that day, as his sweatpants don’t drag up a cloud of dust as he trudges to the kitchen. He notices a few picture frames sitting crooked on shelves and unknowingly cracks a small smile at the thought of Yuta getting enlisted into cleaning duty but not being nearly as meticulous at it as his roommate. The smile quickly disappears when Doyoung registers that the photos are no longer laying face down and out of view, but rather stare him in the eyes like ghosts of haunted memories.

He feels irrational anger bubble up inside of him at what he considers a gross invasion of privacy - a massive step out of line. Abandoning the kitchen, he swerves to the nearest picture frame and grabs it with every intention of slamming it back down, but his body doesn’t listen. He stands there, frozen, one thin hand gripping the sleek black wood, and stares. Kind eyes gaze back at him, shy and gentle under a mop of blonde hair. His fingers slowly release the frame and brush over the photo, dragging deliberately over those delicate eyes and down to full lips captured forever in a grin, but all he feels is cool, hard, unwelcoming glass. Doyoung is there in the picture too, but he might as well be a stranger. He doesn’t recognize that unabashedly gummy smile or the cheeks filled with so much mirth they nearly glint with the flash of the camera. His chest, lately unfeeling, begins to ache again and he forces himself to go around the living room and turn over every photograph, and with each one he gets angrier and angrier - angry at Yuta, angry at himself, angry at life or lack thereof - until burning tears roll down his neck and soak his shirt.

When the last picture is out of sight, he falls to his knees and sobs on the freshly washed floor.  
  
  
  
  
Doyoung wakes a couple hours later with pain in his limbs but a little less weight on his shoulders. He must have cried himself to exhaustion and fallen asleep where he collapsed on the stiff ground, but the overwhelming emotion that escaped his body almost feels worth it. He rubs at his swollen eyes and his stomach grumbles, still empty and now even more desperate for nourishment. For a moment he seriously considers calling one of his friends and begging them to go out and share real food together, but the thought is immediately shut down with a forced shake of his head. He doesn't know how to navigate the world outside anymore, suddenly alone after years of having a partner to traverse it with.

Standing slowly and stretching the aches away, he’s about to head to his trusty cupboard of chips and snacks when he spots a lone letter shoved under his front door. Curiously, he picks it up and notes from the stamp that it had been mailed only two days prior. It must have just arrived, and his landlady is such a sweetheart, she probably came all the way upstairs to deliver it to him hersel--

Suddenly he throws the letter across the room with a gasp as if the paper, light as a feather and fluttering through the air like one, could pierce his skin at any second. He clenches his eyes shut and hesitates before opening them again, but the sender stamped on the front of the crisp, white envelope stays the same, still visible even when half-hidden underneath the tiny dining room table. He stares ahead at the bolded black text of _**TOUCH** \- for donors, and for the gift of life._

“No,” he breathes. “No, no, _fuck you,_ no.” He can feel his breathing grow faster and he can’t be here - not in this apartment, not around these photos, not with this letter. Turning on his heel quick enough to stumble, he bolts back into his bedroom, grabbing his phone and jamming his finger on the only number his instincts allow him to call.

“Doyoung?” Taeyong’s voice is laced with concern as it reaches Doyoung’s ears, though he can tell that his friend is trying to mask it with a gentle tone. “Are you… What’s up?”

“Take me somewhere,” Doyoung forces out.  
  
  
  
  
He doesn’t know what time it is when his friends help him home, but it doesn’t matter. He actually went _out_ and had drinks with people who love him and - dare he say it - he had a good time. If he woke and found out that three days had passed in that pub, he’d be perfectly content with that. Tipsy hands toss his clothes aside and urge him into bed and he hears a cup being set on his nightstand next to his head. The voices above him are trying to whisper, but they aren’t doing a very good job.

“--m’not sleepy,” Doyoung murmurs, but no one seems to care.

“I’m glad we did this,” Johnny says. “He had fun.”

“I wasn’t sure about the drinking, but…”

“Relax, Taeyong,” Yuta chides. A ruffling noise followed by an indignant squawk tells Doyoung that Yuta pulled his roommate into a rough half hug. “Tonight was awesome. This could be the start of things looking up.”

Taeyong laughs. “Yeah.” He leans in and brushes hair from Doyoung’s face. “Maybe next time we can bring more people. Everyone really wants to see him again.”

Blankets get pulled over Doyoung’s humming body and he doesn’t have the heart to kick them off and repeat how wide awake he really feels. He just waits until he hears his front door click shut before taking a deep breath, stretching, and sitting up in bed.

A pause.

He isn’t tired, but he definitely needs to pee.

Practically rolling onto the floor in languid laziness, Doyoung eventually makes his way to the bathroom and relieves himself. While washing his hands, his stomach growls, and apparently he’s hungry again. Wobbling into the kitchen, he grabs the only thing he knows he can figure out how to eat right now - a bag of Doritos - and plops himself into one of the two chairs around the dining room table. He slouches and spreads his legs to get comfortable in the cramped space that was never adequate for two tall men to sit in at once, although that never took the joy out of eating together. He can feel his mind wandering to a dangerous place so he shoves a handful of chips into his mouth as a distraction, which, considering his current lack of hand-eye coordination, was not the best idea. A few chips crack at the force and fall into his lap, with one bouncing off of his bare leg and landing on the floor.

“Shit,” he mutters. He sets his crinkled bag on the table and awkwardly works himself down onto the ground in the limited space around him. He squints in the moonlit darkness and finally spots the cheesy fucker a little over an arm’s reach away. With a groan, he stretches forward and manages to pull the chip closer with his fingertips. At this angle, a bright whiteness catches his attention from the corner of his eye. He turns his head and sees a rectangle laying forgotten on the floor just past the chair opposite his, bouncing the night’s natural lighting in his direction.

“Oh.”

Doyoung remembers that. He remembers seeing that letter. But unlike earlier, his mind is too cloudy to feel the same seething hate when he looks at that simple folded paper. Why was he so mad, again? He manages to retract himself from beneath the table - only bumping his head once - and pops the rogue chip into his mouth. 5 second rule, or something. He squeezes himself out of the too-small space between his chair and the wall and walks over to the letter, picking it up with orange-dusted fingers. 

_**TOUCH** \- for donors, and for the gift of life._

This letter is about you-know-who, he realizes. He smiles to himself, alcohol and deep-seated inner warmth softening his barriers until a flood of positive emotions that he’s kept locked up for so long comes crashing down around him. This is about him, and Doyoung loves him, so Doyoung should read about him. Yes, that’s right.

He fumbles around on the wall for the lightswitch and flicks it on, sitting back down in his chair with a grin still resting loopy on his face. He tears open the envelope and pulls out two pieces of paper stapled together and folded into thirds. Blinking a few times to steady his vision, he reads.  
  
_To the loved ones of Mr. Ji Hansol:_

_We here at TOUCH are eternally grateful for your decision to give the gift of life to someone in need. A recipient of a heart transplant would like to extend their gratitude in correspondence with you. Below is the information they have chosen to divulge._

__**Name:** Jaehyun  
**Province:** Gyeonggi Region  
**Personal Message:** Words can't express how deeply sorry I am for your loss, but I had to write this letter to tell you just how much you’ve impacted my life. I was on the transplant list for 8 months and I tried to stay positive, but every day tore me down more and more and I almost gave up. It felt like a miracle when a heart was finally offered to me. By now I’m past the beginning stages of healing, but I still can’t believe that I can let myself have goals again. One day, I’ll be able to run again. I can play basketball again. I hate golf, but I’ll even let my dad teach me how to play. I’ll finally be able to attend my little cousin’s ballet recitals and sing along to her cartoon movies with her. I wish I could live my whole life outside now and never stop moving. I have courage again because of you and your family, and nothing I say will ever express what that means to me, but I wanted to try. Thank you. Thank you so much. I will never receive a gift greater than what you have given me. Thank you. 

_If you would like to write back to your recipient, please fill out the attached form. You may include information such as your first name, province in which you live, and anything you have to say about this transplant experience. Do not include specifics, such as a full name, exact location, or family details._

_Do not share any contact information at this time. Remember that all correspondence is kept anonymous unless both parties agree to further communication._

__

_Your recipient would like to speak personally with you:_

_**YES** / No_

  
  
Doyoung blinks again. That’s right - Hansol isn’t here anymore. Hansol’s heart is in someone else. Someone with Hansol’s heart wrote to him. After a long pause with the sluggish gears in Doyoung’s brain attempting to turn, he cocks his head.

“...Shouldn’t I write back?”

It’s only logical: when you get a letter, you respond to it. Doyoung nods to himself as if he just figured out a long-winded word problem and pushes away from the table, wandering into the living room in search of a pen. He finally finds one and sits heavily on the couch, humming to himself as he begins to fill out the form on the second page. When he reaches the section about direct contact information, he puts down his email - it’s an easy way to talk with someone new in a more formal manner, and also he can’t remember the correct order of his phone number’s digits at the moment.

He meanders around the living room to find an envelope and eventually stumbles upon the stationery drawer, taking an envelope that’s slightly too big and sealing his form up inside, licking the flap closed before copying TOUCH’s address onto his own letter. He smiles widely to himself, feeling accomplished, and is about to open the front door when he fortunately realizes that he’s not dressed. He manages to put on some clothes - though his sweatpants are inside out - and sways into the hallway, stopping in front of a mail chute in the wall.

“Bye bye,” he giggles, sending the envelope down into the black tunnel leading to the building’s mailroom. Not thinking much of it - or of anything, really - he heads back to his apartment and falls haplessly on top of his bedsheets, soon knocking out into a deep sleep.  
  
  
  
  
The first sensations Doyoung registers the next morning are the stale taste on his tongue and the dryness of his lips. He frowns, but the added pressure to his temple runs dangerously close to headache territory so he quickly relaxes his brow. After a few minutes of lying in bed, waiting, he concludes that he probably won’t get sick and that he came out relatively unscathed from the effects of last night’s celebrations. He manages to sit up in bed and as soon as he cracks his eyelids open, he sees the glass of water someone - probably Taeyong - had left on his bedside table. Letting out a groan of appreciation, he slowly stretches out over the side of the bed and takes it, drinking steadily until all the liquid is inside his slightly gurgly stomach.

Then he really needs to pee again. With overdramatic huffs and puffs, Doyoung pulls himself out of bed and drags his feet to the bathroom. He takes his time washing up, and as cool water splashes against his face, he starts to get the feeling that he’s forgetting something important. The notion grows into an inkling as he heads to the kitchen, and becomes a nagging sensation as he pours himself a bowl of cereal - a meal he’s learned that he can definitely tolerate after a night out. As he sits heavily in a chair at the miniature dining room table and munches on honey-flavored oats, the fog in his mind begins to clear. He looks around and remembers sitting here once his friends had left. He stretches his legs out and kicks something crinkly beneath the table, and when he peers below it he sees a bag of chips.

He freezes mid-chew.

Slowly, he swallows.

A loud clatter barrels through the apartment as he stands so quickly that the table jerks and his chair rams into the wall behind him. He stumbles away from his breakfast, knocking his shin on a table leg, and dashes into the kitchen, searching on every countertop and finding nothing. Then he runs into the living room and practically upturns the whole place until he spots an opened envelope halfway underneath the couch. He grabs at it in horror, cheese dust and sloppily-returned letter more than enough to let him know that he had read what was inside.

“Shit,” he breathes. He clenches his eyes shut and, horrifyingly, recalls filling out a form. Cheeks heating in panic, he tries to remember if, even drunk, he would have been _stupid_ enough to--

He gasps.

“Stamp,” he whispers, eyes shooting open. He rummages through the stationary drawer and sees a full booklet of stamps and lets out a relieved laugh. He throws the envelope onto the couch and rubs at his face. “I didn’t use a stamp, thank fucking god.”

With his heart steadily settling, Doyoung returns to his breakfast and takes his time going through his morning routine, hampered by only a small discomfort in his body that fades while he showers. Around two in the afternoon, he walks leisurely down to the building’s mailroom on the first floor, ready to get his letter back and have it shredded and thrown into a fire in no time.

“Oh, good morning, dear!” the nice old landlady chirps when he arrives. She has a couple packages in hand, so Doyoung helps her set them down into their respective piles. “Today’s mail has already been picked up, I’m afraid,” she says, wiping her hands on an apron.

“Actually,” Doyoung says, flashing a polite smile, “that’s why I’m here. I need to grab a letter that I, uh, forgot to stamp, but - silly me - I sent it down the chute. I’ll just take it back and finish that off now.”

The landlady laughs and gives Doyoung’s thin arm a squeeze. “Oh, you need to eat more, dear,” she mutters. “But don’t worry, I saw your letter and just put an ol’ stamp on it myself! You’re always so kind when I see you, such a nice young man--”

“Sorry?” Doyoung asks, accidentally interrupting her. He still has a smile plastered on his face, but he can feel dread coursing quickly through his veins. His heart thuds in his chest and a shiver crawls over his skin.

“Don’t you worry about a thing, honey.” The landlady begins to shoo Doyoung out of the mailroom, patting his back good naturedly. “Auntie took care of it. Run along now and get some more meat on those bones!”

Doyoung’s feet react on autopilot, taking him up the stairs and into his apartment with his mind in a haze, but not the good kind of haze like at the pub. This is an awful, world-stopping haze. He stands in the middle of his home for a while, mind racing with thoughts of fear and regret and blame. His friends never should have let him drink. The sweet building auntie never should have touched his mail. He never should have been so _stupid._

He thought he was getting better. After last night, he had hope that everything was starting to be put behind him. He’ll never get over Hansol, but he was at the starting point of a path of being able to live every day without being so fucking sad and alone. Then he had to go and ruin everything by not only reading what some _stranger_ with Hansol’s heart had to say, but he _invited_ even more of the-- the _fraud_ into his life when he wrote him back.

With a quaking sigh, Doyoung drops onto the couch. He feels himself sit on something and pulls out the original letter from TOUCH, now creased and wrinkled from his mishandling. The thought of calling the organization and firmly, preemptively canceling his own response crosses his mind, but as soon as he grabs his phone and types in their number, his thumb freezes above the glowing green call button.

Doing this now will end it all. No more contact whatsoever. He’ll never hear from this “Jaehyun” ever again. As much of an imposter as Jaehyun feels in his mind, he’s still the last bit of Hansol left in the living world. Somewhere out there, a part of Hansol lives and breathes and beats, and the idea of purposely, permanently cutting Hansol off in any way stabs at Doyoung’s own heart with enough force to make his eyes well with tears. He tosses his phone onto the carpet with a curse and presses his palms against his face.

“I can’t do it.”

After a few minutes of shuddering sobs, he squares his shoulders and sucks in steadying breaths. It’s fine, he tells himself. He only provided an email address, and emails are easy to ignore. After enough time passes, Jaehyun will probably give up trying to reach him altogether. Not communicating, Doyoung is okay with. As long as the _potential_ is there, he can pretend that his connection to Hansol isn’t forever severed. That it was never ripped away from him, forcibly pried from his hands by a fate that never deserved someone so kind and gentle.

Ignore Jaehyun. It’s that simple.

_Ignore Jaehyun, and you’ll be okay._  
  


⇀ ♡ ↼

  
  
A few weeks pass with Doyoung’s constant alertness and anxiety amounting to nothing. He receives no emails from this “Jaehyun” person, neither in his regular inbox nor his spam folder, and he can only hope that Jaehyun changed his mind. Realistically, he knows that it takes time for TOUCH to process his own correspondence form in order to send the both of them each other’s contact information, but for once in his life Doyoung convinces himself that an organization is on top of their paperwork and would have handled the transaction efficiently and promptly, so not hearing from Jaehyun by now means that the impending nightmare has ended before it could begin.

However, his wishful thinking soon comes to a halt when Ten stops by for a surprise visit and an impromptu home manicure session and he brings Doyoung’s mail up with him. All the relaxed joy that Ten’s talented hands and constant white noise-like chatter brought him immediately dissipates when Doyoung sees a familiar envelope sitting on his living room table. He strictly avoids even going into his living room for a few days, but he can _feel_ the letter there, existing where it’s not wanted and taunting him with an aura of unease filtering from its contents into the air. Still, he can’t bring himself to simply throw it away and be done with it all, so he’s stuck feeling uncomfortable and nauseated in his own home. Maybe he should move.

He’s just sent Taeyong a text one afternoon asking if he’s free so he can spend as little time in his apartment as possible when his phone vibrates in his pocket and he pulls it out, not thinking twice about how quick of a response he appears to have gotten. When he flicks on his lock screen, the notification waiting there isn’t from his friend.

email | 1:38 PM  
**Jung Jaehyun**  
Contact Info  
_It’s an honor to talk to you, Dongyoung. I was wondering if you wanted to exchange phone num…_

Doyoung immediately swipes the pop-up away and shoves his phone back into his pocket, grabbing a jacket and just heading to Taeyong and Yuta’s place without waiting for a response.  
  
  
  
email | 5:17 PM  
**Jung Jaehyun**  
Contact Info  
_I’m sorry if that was too forward. Email is more than enough. I don’t really know how this works but…_  
  
  
  
email | 9:53 PM  
**Jung Jaehyun**  
Contact Info  
_Hi Dongyoung, I don’t want to be a bother but it’s been a couple weeks now and I confirmed that this is the address you gave to…_  
  
  
  
email | 3:45 PM  
**Jung Jaehyun**  
Cooking Class  
_Did you get my last email about my cousin’s recital? Isn’t she cute :) This week I’m going to my first cooking…_  
  
  
  
email | 12:05 PM  
**Jung Jaehyun**  
Lotte World  
_My friends took me to Lotte World today! I couldn’t go on rides or walk around much, but I felt like a kid agai…_  
  
  
  
email | 3:26 AM  
**Jung Jaehyun**  
[No Subject]  
_It hasn’t been a very good week. It’s gotten hard to sleep. I have to get tests done tomorrow. It would mean a lot to hear from y..._  
  
  
  
email | 2:10 PM  
**Jung Jaehyun**  
Pottery Class  
_I’m awful at pottery, Dongyoung. Awful. There are kids here who are better than me, it’s so embarrassing. I think a little girl laughed at m…_

“Can you stop frowning at your phone?” Johnny whines, reaching across the bar and forcing Doyoung’s hands down and away from his face. “Getting you to actually come visit me at work was a miracle-- don’t ruin it now.”

“Sorry,” Doyoung mumbles, turning his phone over and placing it face down on sleek granite. “The place looks really nice.”

Johnny smiles proudly. “A lot of the renovation ideas were mine. My boss is still a little wary, but I think opening for brunch will give us a lot of new customers. This place was falling apart when it was just a dirty sports bar.”

A table of tipsy soccer moms giggle amongst each other and call out for Johnny’s attention. “Another round please, honey!” one of them coos. Johnny flashes them a smile and they huddle into a circle to whisper intensely over their omelettes.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow and Johnny shrugs.

“I’ll take bottomless mimosas and sweet older ladies over drunk truckers any day.”

Once Johnny steps away to make the drinks, Doyoung steals another glance at his phone. He’s lost track of how many emails Jaehyun has sent him by this point. They started off normal enough based on the pop-up previews (he never opens them, of course) - cordial hellos, requests to chat, an occasional health update - but within the month, Jaehyun’s resorted to just telling Doyoung about his day-to-day activities. Doesn’t he have friends for that? Is Doyoung supposed to be some sort of virtual diary for him? He dismisses today’s email notification just like he’s done with all the others, but he’s sure that Jaehyun will have something else to say tomorrow. He has half a mind to tell the guy to fuck off and take a hint, but that would require actually acknowledging his existence and emailing him back. Also, it’s Hansol-- or, part of Hansol, and for Hansol’s sake, he doesn’t do anything he might regret later.

“You’ve been doing really well,” Johnny says, returning to his spot in front of Doyoung and leaning forward on his elbows. He must have already supplied the housewives with more spiked gossip juice. “You text a little more often and you sometimes come out to hang with us. I’m proud of you.”

Doyoung smiles weakly. “I don’t know why I do. Some days I just feel okay, but other days I feel like absolute reclusive shit.”

Johnny nods. “Makes sense. I don’t think there’s any clear-cut way to get through something like this. But what matters is that you’re moving on. One step forward, two steps back, three steps forward…” He musses Doyoung’s hair. “You’ll get there.”

Doyoung clenches his phone in his hand. Perhaps he wouldn’t be taking so many steps back if he didn’t have such a constant reminder that Hansol’s heart is in someone else’s chest pinging from his phone every day like an alarm without a snooze button, blaring in his ear every time he thinks he might finally be able to rest.  
  
  
  
  
That night, when Doyoung has opened a book again for the first time in half a year, he gets another email from Jaehyun, marking two in one day. He doesn’t know why, but he decides that this is the last straw. Tossing his book towards the end of the bed, Doyoung grabs his phone from the nightstand and glares at the notification making his lock screen illuminate for a few more seconds.

email | 11:25 PM  
**Jung Jaehyun**  
Pizza  
_Are you pro or against pineapple on pizza? Personally, I think pineapples add a great sweetness to an otherwise salty…_

“Seriously?” Doyoung nearly shouts at his phone as the screen goes black. He unlocks the device in a huff and swipes the pop-up away, but that doesn’t feel satisfying enough. He can’t just brush Jaehyun’s constant pestering off anymore. Simply ignoring an email from someone he knows nothing about brings him no petty gratification, especially not when the only visual clue he has about the guy is the mental image of what his heart’s previous owner looked like.

Doyoung pauses.

“What do _you_ look like, Jung Jaehyun?” he mutters to himself, lip curling up in a disgusted snarl. Putting a face to this truly annoying name might actually help him direct his frustration at someone real-- give him the pleasure of rejecting a tangible human being every time he flicks Jaehyun’s emails away with more force than is even remotely necessary.

He starts with a web search, figuring it might take a while to narrow down all the Jung Jaehyuns in the world, but to his surprise, he finds what he’s looking for right away. News articles pop up at the mention of Jaehyun’s name because… Oh.

  


_University’s Star Athlete and A capella Team Member Leaves School Over Health Concerns._

_Collegiate Basketball Tournament to be One Promising Player Short Just Weeks Before First Game._

_Senior’s Withdrawal From A capella Semi-Finals Comes After Worrying Collapse at Regionals._

_Student Body Sends Massive Outpouring of Support As Classmate Prepares for Heart Surgery._

 

It has to be him. Doyoung had no idea that Jaehyun was so young (though he is very aware that Jaehyun probably mentioned his age in one of his countless emails), but how many guys in Gyeonggi Region - specifically Seoul, apparently - named Jung Jaehyun could have recently undergone a heart transplant? He also remembers, through his drunken stupor, reading in Jaehyun’s personal message passed along by TOUCH that he enjoys the arts and being active.

Squashing down the empathy budding in his chest, Doyoung clicks on an article and is immediately met with a photo of Jaehyun with his vocal teammates. He’s smiling widely as they all hold up a trophy, deep dimples etched into his pink cheeks and soft brown hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. Below it, a candid of him on the court during a timeout, hands on his hips as he listens intently to his coach. Doyoung doesn’t mean to read anything, but he catches the words _“straight-A student”_ in the article and it takes a decent amount of willpower for him to continue with his spiteful agenda.

Closing his internet browser, he then moves to Instagram. He doesn’t use the app much himself, but younger people use it all the time, right? It, again, doesn’t take him too long to find Jaehyun’s account.

 _“living my 1st + 2nd chances to the fullest”_ greets him as soon as he taps onto Jaehyun’s page. Squashing the queasy feeling in his gut, Doyoung begins scrolling through photos, taking small glimpses into the life of the man who now has Hansol’s. Pre-surgery, Jaehyun posted more frequently and freely, updating his admirable amount of followers with anything from pictures of the sky to goofy poses with friends. There’s a clear divide between those photos and now, when his few updates are more often than not views from a bedroom window with just a few activities sprinkled in. Doyoung sees food made from his cooking classes and a really ugly clay vase, and he feels an unsettling mix of emotions at the fact that he already knows about these facets of Jaehyun’s life. The hundreds of caring comments wishing for Jaehyun’s speedy recovery and sending him words of encouragement are bittersweet at the back of his throat.

Doyoung looks through Jaehyun’s photos for another few seconds before muttering a _“fuck it”_ \- this was a stupid idea. As much of a haughty front as he likes to put up, he’s an observant and caring person who can only grow weaker in resolve if the object of his hatred turns out to be a charming 20-something just trying to get his life back on track after a horrific health scare. He’s about to exit Instagram when, for a split second, he notices something familiar. He didn’t even fully see it, really, but that quick, blurry glimpse among rows of scrolling photos was enough to spark an intense sensation of nostalgia and longing that tugged at his heart. With a shaky thumb, Doyoung slowly drags down his phone screen until that one picture comes back into view.

A choked sob escapes his throat.

In a photo taken just under a year ago, Jaehyun sits in a café that Doyoung used to frequent nearly every day while he waited for Hansol’s shifts to end. That simple mom-and-pop café became like a second home to them, providing shelter during the rain and warm mugs of hot chocolate when it snowed. No matter how shitty a day he had, Doyoung would go to Hansol’s workplace and be greeted with a quiet smile that uplifted his spirits more than any encouraging speech ever could. Their first kiss - their first _real_ kiss that wasn’t brought on by drinks at a club that neither of them cared to be at - took place in that café when Doyoung stayed after closing and watched Hansol sweep the floors and count money in the register, bored out of his mind but already so, so in love. Hansol had asked him if he wanted to take a bagel from the day-old basket and Doyoung kissed him from across the counter. Just under a year ago, when Jaehyun sat in Hansol’s café, Hansol was alive. Hansol could have even made the latte sitting on the table by Jaehyun’s elbow. Jaehyun smiles, not knowing the perils that would soon befall the both of them, nor sparing a second thought for the waiter whose life would soon belong to him.

A tear falls onto Doyoung’s screen and trickles down the glass, passing over a dimple nestled in Jaehyun’s bright cheek.  
  
  
  
  
Something about finding that photo at the café sparks a change in Doyoung’s subconscious. He tells himself he just wants to know that the owner of Hansol’s heart is okay, but clearly the incessant emails are proof enough that Jaehyun is still breathing. And yet Doyoung finds himself checking Jaehyun’s Instagram every day, at first only to go through old posts in hopes of stumbling upon more things that give him brief moments of forgotten joy, but soon he is keeping up with today’s Jaehyun, following his journey of recovery and pursuit of happiness. Perhaps pigeonholing Jaehyun as an extension of his dead boyfriend is not the healthiest way to choose to read the situation, but seeing Jaehyun eating a meal that Hansol used to love or posing in a coat that Hansol would have looked so good in are getting Doyoung through the days and providing him with something to look forward to, and that’s more than enough.

“Whoa, Dons, you made it!” Yuta calls, jogging over to him with a smile that would overflow onto his jersey had it been the liquid sunshine that it mirrors. “I’m so glad you’re here.” He pulls Doyoung into a strong hug, faint scent of Salonpas and freshly cut grass emanating from him.

Doyoung finds himself smiling back as he gives Yuta a squeeze. “I missed all your other games. I had to come to the finals.”

Yuta pulls away with a casual shrug. “Don’t even worry about that,” he says. “I’m just so happy to see you! I gotta go finish warming up, but everyone else is already sitting over there.” He points to a section of grass where a large pink blanket is spread out under a tree and all of Doyoung’s friends, including ones he hasn’t seen in person since the funeral, are unpacking picnic baskets and laughing together. With a confident clap on the back, Yuta bids him goodbye and returns to his team.

Doyoung sucks in a calming breath and heads towards the group currently doing a horrible job at pretending like they hadn’t already seen him. When he’d gotten the invitation to attend Yuta’s last city soccer club game of the season, he almost ignored it like he had with all the others. It wasn’t until Jaehyun sent him an email (that he didn’t fully read) about how much he missed playing competitive sports that Doyoung felt the urge to go. Here, doing something that current-Hansol would love to do, he feels more of a bond than sitting at home watching shitty dramas all day.

Lucas is the first to break the charade and jump to his feet in gangly excitement, and Doyoung knows he has a long afternoon ahead of him. The weight of his phone in his pocket urges him onwards.  
  
  
  
  
Not every day is as easy as deciding to watch a soccer game on a whim, and Doyoung has gotten unnervingly used to Jaehyun providing him some sort of calm between his clockwork emails and the hundreds of photos and inspirational captions on his Instagram. It’s become too easy to rely on Jaehyun for real-time updates on Hansol’s host body, so when Doyoung realizes on a Friday evening that he hasn’t gotten an email from Jaehyun since that Tuesday, it feels very strange. However, Jaehyun posted a picture of a dog viewed from his living room window not two hours prior, so Doyoung shakes the worry out of his head. He hated those emails anyway. This should be a nice reprieve.  
  
  
  
  
On Sunday, Jaehyun privates his Instagram.

Doyoung thinks it’s a glitch at first and refreshes the page, then closes and re-opens the app altogether, but there is no mistake - Jaehyun’s profile is locked and Doyoung no longer has access to anything. No photos, no captioned updates on daily activities, no sense of what could possibly be going on in Jaehyun’s bubble of a world. Irrational betrayal jabs at his chest and it’s as though a protective barrier of diamond he’d built around himself comes crashing down, pelting him with shards of rainbow-tinted debris and leaving him exposed to the cold world outside. Things were going _so well_ \-- why this? Why now? He frantically refreshes Jaehyun’s profile over and over again but nothing changes. When he kept his distance but left the string of fate in tact between them, he could survive. But now, with that one outlet pulled from the fray, he has nothing. His heart races in his chest. He could finally email Jaehyun back, but words wouldn’t comfort him the way the visual snapshots of _life_ do now. It’s been so long anyway, and Jaehyun hasn’t reached out to him in days-- he lost his chance. Jaehyun tired of putting himself out there only to hit brick wall after brick wall. He probably hates Doyoung now. Or maybe… Maybe the answer is far more serious.

Doyoung can feel his hands shaking. Somewhere deep down he knows that he doesn’t even deserve to go into a panic, not when he denied Jaehyun any contact while he silently followed bits of Jaehyun’s life, but he can’t _lose him_ like this. Not again.

And so here he stands on Monday afternoon in front of a quaint community center on the outskirts of Seoul, palms sweating as he holds them stiffly against his sides. Class starts in five minutes but he can’t bring himself to go inside and _not_ see Jaehyun there. (Though, he isn’t really sure if he does want to see Jaehyun, either). He woke that morning after only a few hours of restless sleep, determined to stop by the cooking class he’d come to look forward to seeing photos of every week and just-- He just needs to know what’s going on.

With a deep breath, Doyoung enters the warm room and his eyes immediately wander past each kitchen station in a desperate search, but before he can get through everyone a woman addresses him politely.

“Hello, dear,” she says with a smile. “Are you looking to take a class?”

Doyoung tears his eyes away from the students mingling with each other and tries his best to look happy to be there. “Ah, yes…” he says quietly. “I was curious…”

The woman claps her hands loudly. “Well, that’s why we do this!” she laughs. “This community center provides free classes all year ‘round and anyone can stop by at any time. It’s really such a lovely project, don’t you think? How did you hear about us?”

Doyoung swallows. “I… heard a friend mention it once.”

“Oh, good! That’s wonderful.” The teacher stands on her toes and scopes out the room, then nudges Doyoung towards the left side of the class. “We work in pairs here, mostly. There’s one free spot in the back over there-- see it? Well, if you don’t, just keep walking and you’ll get there.”

Doyoung suddenly wants to be anywhere but here. He has a bad feeling about this, but his reaction time is too slowed by anxiety and he ends up following the teacher’s direction to the end of the room instead of excusing himself and fleeing back to the safety of his too-big bed. His head feels dizzyingly light and all he can do is sit heavily in the open chair.

“Hey,” his tablemate greets. “First class?”

Doyoung nods. He feels a bit queasy. From the corner of his eye, he sees a hand extend his way.

“I’m Jaehyun.”

Suddenly the world around him fades out and all Doyoung can register is the feeling of a person sitting next to him. At the front of the class the teacher is calling for everyone’s attention and explaining today’s dish, but Doyoung can’t hear a thing. His lungs feel like they’re in his throat, choking him, and he has to force himself to face his partner.

Jaehyun is beautiful. In photos, yes, but in person, definitely. His dimples dig into soft marshmallow cheeks and he looks completely, utterly fine. Doyoung has half a mind to snap at Jaehyun for causing him so much worry, but he knows he can’t do that. How would one even go about admitting to secretly keeping updated on a stranger’s life while ignoring said stranger’s very normal attempts at actual communication? The gravity of the situation begins to weigh on Doyoung’s shoulders, broad but very weak as of late. He can’t tell Jaehyun anything. He can’t admit to knowing who Jaehyun is, or who’s in his chest. Coming here was a mistake.

“I’m Doyoung,” he greets to be polite, purposely avoiding the legal name he’d given to TOUCH. They shake hands and Jaehyun has a familiar warmth. Doyoung wants to leave.

“Do you like cooking?” Jaehyun asks, effectively keeping Doyoung rooted in place with small talk.

“I don’t cook much anymore,” Doyoung says shortly. It was something he preferred doing for Hansol.

Jaehyun laughs a bit awkwardly. “Oh, well, this class is really fun so maybe you’ll pick it up again. Come on, let’s go get our ingredients.”

Doyoung is about to tell Jaehyun that he changed his mind - or that an emergency came up, _something_ \- but Jaehyun is already heading to metal shelves full of pots and pans. He reaches up above his head for a skillet but immediately recoils in pain, dropping his arm and putting a hand to his chest.

Doyoung is by his side in an instant, grabbing the pan for him. Jaehyun takes a few deep breaths and smiles that bright smile at him again, and Doyoung figures one day won’t kill him.  
  
  
  
  
He didn’t mean for it to happen, but seeing Jaehyun in person blurred too many lines. Morality is flung out the window in place of desperation. Doyoung is drawn to Jaehyun’s presence like a fly to honey - an ironic revelation, as today’s cooking class involves honey buns.

“Did you get the video I texted you?” Jaehyun asks while they wait for their treat to bake.

Right-- they’ve been communicating almost daily. It’s… a thing that’s happening.

“I did,” Doyoung says with a smile. “Your baby cousin is adorable. I’m glad you’re able to attend her recitals.” Jaehyun’s expression just ever so slightly begins to morph into confusion, so Doyoung quickly adds, “They must be very enjoyable to watch. My family’s youngests are a bit far away.”

Right-- Jaehyun has yet to open up about his surgery, and Doyoung can’t reveal that he knows otherwise.

Jaehyun returns to smiling. “No offense to your youngests, but I’m pretty sure my girl is cuter.”

Doyoung rolls his eyes, banter coming easily after a few weeks of getting to know each other. In person, that is. “If you say so,” he says.

Jaehyun laughs and Doyoung clings to the sound.  
  
  
  
  
After two more months, the cooking class ends for the season and Doyoung doesn’t have time to worry about losing Jaehyun, because Jaehyun asks him on a date before they finish eating their handmade pasta. Nothing serious, he’d said. “I’ve been through a lot lately. But I really want to keep spending time with you.”

Doyoung nods and feels himself smiling.

They start out at coffee shops and hidden gem bakeries, chatting casually and enjoying each other’s company, and Doyoung thinks that he can handle this. It’s enough. There’s a questionable yet safe distance that comes with Jaehyun staring at him with soft eyes from across a table and walking together down quaint streets lined with shops, hands always centimeters apart. Jaehyun offers Doyoung his jacket at night and Doyoung sinks into its warmth, but the piece of fabric is merely that and not the embrace of a person. They don’t kiss in the darkness of movie theaters or link arms as they people-watch in parks, their only connection the string of headphones shared between them. As sweet and friendly as Jaehyun is, he has certain walls up around his life - not unusual for someone who’s experienced so much - and Doyoung can live with that separation from reality.  
  
  
  
  
Doyoung might have separated himself too much from reality.

One of their first bigger dates is to a traveling carnival of sorts that somehow managed to squeeze itself into the city. There are booths of street food and greasy desserts; ring tosses and other games with large plush prizes waiting to be won; activities such as face painting and balloon animals for kids; and a few rides scattered around the area. It had been a while since Doyoung attended something like this and he can’t help but look around at the dizzying colors in awe.

Jaehyun watches him fondly.

Sometimes when Doyoung observes Jaehyun, he notices him staring at the rides fondly as well. Children shriek with joy as they round the corner of the tracks on a small train and snuggle stuffed bears passed on by their parents. Those big enough for the adult lines cheer as they get lead into seats on a spinning ride that pushes passengers from side to side at an exciting pace. Doyoung nudges Jaehyun's arm.

“Wanna go on?” he asks, grinning.

Jaehyun shakes his head and turns away from the ride. “Ah, no…” he says, a bit stilted. “I can’t.”

They begin to walk towards the food, following the scent of meat and spice, and Doyoung leans slightly against Jaehyun. “Are you scared?” he teases.

Jaehyun smiles and shakes his head again. He places a hand on Doyoung’s back so they won’t get separated in the thickening crowd. “No,” he says. “Actually… I was sick a while ago. These kinds of rides aren’t that good for me.” He sounds like he doesn’t want to elaborate so Doyoung doesn’t press.

Not that he needed to.

Doyoung swallows and feels his blood run cold at what Jaehyun is alluding to. He _forgot._ For a moment, surrounded by endless joy and looking at Jaehyun’s gentle smile, he forgot about Jaehyun’s-- Hansol’s heart.

“I’m getting better,” Jaehyun says, and Doyoung realizes that he’s trying to comfort him. Of course he is-- he thinks Doyoung doesn’t know, and mentioning a sickness would worry anyone else. “But there are some things I can’t do.”

“Ah,” Doyoung says, putting on a small smile and hoping his face hasn’t gone pale in shame or fear or whatever he’s supposed to be feeling. “Well…” He looks ahead and sees a ferris wheel peeking out above tents in the distance. “Not all rides are off limits, right?”

Jaehyun’s ears blush a light red and he shakes his head. “No, not all of them.”  
  
  
  
  
A couple weeks pass and Jaehyun doesn’t make any move to elaborate on their awkward (at least for Doyoung) conversation from the amusement park. Doyoung thinks it’s for the best. They continue on like this, toeing the line between friends and something more but never crossing it, and spending days together feels more and more natural.

Then, the first time Jaehyun sits in Doyoung’s apartment on his couch with an empty pizza box on the table in front of them, he finally opens up.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks seriously.

The thought of what this _something_ could be strangely does not cross Doyoung’s mind. He simply places a hand on Jaehyun’s thigh and gives it a squeeze. “Of course.”

Jaehyun rests his hand over Doyoung’s for a moment, sharing heat, then twists his wrist and takes Doyoung’s fingers between his own. “I didn’t just get sick last year,” he admits. “You know, what I mentioned before? It was bad. I needed a new heart and I finally got one - and of course I’m so grateful to even be alive - but it was hard. For a really long time. Aside from the physical pain, I would go through these… cycles of feeling like I didn’t know who I was, or that I have to be absolutely perfect to really make use of this second chance.” He laughs lightly and brushes a thumb over Doyoung’s knuckles. “I tried to appear normal online for my friends and the people supporting me, but I felt like a fraud and stopped.”

Doyoung doesn’t dare breathe at the reminder of why he sought out Jaehyun in person to begin with.

Jaehyun looks at him, and it’s vulnerable but full of trust. “Honestly, the thing I looked forward to the most was that cooking class. Every week, like clockwork, I could get away from anyone who knew me or my story and just _make something happen_ with my own two hands. And meeting you there, in that place, it was--”

Doyoung cuts him off with a kiss, gentle but with purpose. Ignoring the stuttering in his chest from Jaehyun’s sincere words - or perhaps because of it - he has to stop Jaehyun from continuing. He squeezes Jaehyun’s hand, more to ground himself than anything else, and pulls back slowly, observing Jaehyun’s face carefully.

Jaehyun bites his lip and that’s not something Hansol ever did, but it sends a spark through Doyoung’s body. He pulls Doyoung’s hand closer and they kiss again, slow and patient and entirely new.  
  
  
  
  
Jaehyun _swears_ he’s not trying to change Doyoung.

“Come on, you’re being dramatic,” he snorts as he guides Doyoung through a health foods store. “This stuff isn’t even that weird.”

Doyoung peers into their cart and wrinkles his nose. “I don’t see why I need three things with kale in them,” he says. “The sushi from my corner store has cucumber in it. That’s a vegetable.” Jaehyun looks like he’s about to choke on air so Doyoung rolls his eyes. “I’m kidding. I’m all for eating healthier but this stuff is…”

“New?”

“Expensive.”

Jaehyun ponders over their soon-to-be purchases and finally lets Doyoung put half of them back with a promise that he’ll stop eating ramen every day. “I can’t believe you’ve survived this long eating the way you do,” he mumbles.

“Hey,” Doyoung says, pointing a finger at Jaehyun, “not all of us are star athletes.”

Jaehyun glances away and Doyoung winces.

“Sorry,” he soothes, stealing a quick kiss in the empty aisle. “But you are annoyingly fit even after one of the most major surgeries you could get. Take pity on me.”

Jaehyun smiles and puckers his lips for another kiss, which Doyoung grants. “I am a sucker for those cheap corndogs.”

“Now you’re talkin’ my language.”  
  
  
  
  
For people who love music, Doyoung and Jaehyun seem to be from two different worlds. Jaehyun is up to date on most current popular tracks, in both Korea and the western world, while Doyoung prefers Korean ballads and indie bands. So when they realize that they both love R&B, just in opposing languages, Doyoung promptly takes Jaehyun to his local music store and spends hours watching Jaehyun peruse vinyl records and fawn over cheaply priced old school CDs. They settle on a handful of choices and go back to Doyoung’s apartment to play them.

A whole evening goes by full of nothing but lying around, talking, and listening. It’s the first time Doyoung’s had so many albums with this sound in his home, since he prefers digital streaming and _he_ liked pop and hip-hop, but the change is… interesting. He ends up singing along to a melody with predictable lyrics and finds Jaehyun staring at him in awe.

“Sing some more,” he pleads, so Doyoung does.  
  
  
  
  
Sometimes Jaehyun isn’t as shiny and perfect as he wants his family and friends to think. It’s never anything serious, but when he gets restless or feels stress seeping into every joint in his body, it’s Doyoung he seeks out for comfort. He said that he doesn’t want to worry anyone, and Doyoung allows the unnecessary self-blame because Jaehyun seems to truly relax when they’re together.

Jaehyun had read up on aromatherapy and lately has been bringing incense and candles along with him to test out what scents help him the most. There are a couple essential oils Doyoung has to veto immediately because they begin to bring back past memories of who else he smelled such fragrances on, but other than that, he finds Jaehyun’s newest interest quite calming.

That is, until a particularly strong incense stick sets off Doyoung’s smoke detector and he has to apologize to his sweet little old landlady who ran up to his apartment to make sure everything was alright. Behind him, Jaehyun is trying to stifle his laughter as Doyoung gets scolded by the tiny auntie. When his lecture is finally over, Doyoung throws a couch pillow at Jaehyun and pouts until Jaehyun places kiss after kiss on his lips and eventually elicits a smile.

They spend the rest of the evening kissing lazily under an invisible cloud of crushed pine needles and honeysuckle.  
  


⇀ ♡ ↼

  
  
Perhaps he’d gotten too used to his friends giving him space and that’s why Doyoung lets his guard down one evening when he’s staying over at Taeyong’s. Yuta is taking a short trip back home so it’s just the two of them, and really, Doyoung should have known how well his best friend is able to observe him like this. He excuses himself quietly during their Disney movie marathon, and when he returns from the bathroom the TV is paused and Taeyong is holding his phone with a frown on his face. Doyoung practically lurches over the couch to grab at it, but Taeyong keeps it out of reach.

“So this is why you’ve been smiling at your phone all night,” he says, and it’s not a question. He’s a good friend who respects boundaries so he hadn’t unlocked the device, but he evidently didn’t need to. When he flicks the lock screen on, a new text from Jaehyun is there.

_“i can’t wait to see you this weekend. it’s all i can think about~”_

Doyoung doesn’t say anything.

Taeyong opens his own phone to an Internet page, where he’d done his own search of “Jung Jaehyun” and easily found the same articles Doyoung did all those months ago. Taeyong isn’t stupid, and piecing the story together was easy.

“I had this weird feeling,” Taeyong says slowly. “I knew you were getting better - genuinely better - but there was something off. Something not right.” He looks pointedly at Doyoung when he speaks those last words.

“We’re just talking,” Doyoung settles on, and he knows it’s dumb but it’s all he can say.

Taeyong frowns. “This isn’t just talking, Doyoung. It’s obvious. And the fact that you didn’t tell _me_ about him means you were trying to hide him.” He tosses Doyoung’s phone onto a couch cushion. “He doesn’t know who you are, does he?”

A lump lodges itself in Doyoung’s throat. He and Jaehyun were having such a good time, he almost-- no, he _wanted_ to forget how fucked up this all was.

“You can’t do this to him,” Taeyong says. “And-- fuck, Doyoung, you’re smarter than this.” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “He’s not Hansol.”

“I know that,” Doyoung snaps.

“Do you?” Taeyong challenges.

That night, in his bed that could swallow him whole but doesn’t, Doyoung falls asleep on a video call with Jaehyun.  
  
  
  
  
Up until this point, they’ve continued to keep things casual. It’s the slowest either of them have inched into a relationship, but for valid reason. On Jaehyun’s end, there are insecurities to work through and no real rush to make any more big changes in his life. For Doyoung, there’s fear and guilt and a familiar sensation building in his chest that he doesn’t know what to do with. They kiss - they kiss a lot - and they hold hands on empty streets, but it’s only a matter of time before that’s not enough anymore despite all their trepidations.

Jaehyun is planning to return to university for the upcoming school year. He, obviously, has been dropped from his basketball scholarship, but donations from classmates will help cover funds and his grades are more than good enough for enrollment. But Jaehyun is a studious and careful man, and it seems even a heart transplant can’t stop him from studying too hard out of paranoia that he forgot everything he ever learned since grade ten. Doyoung was never excellent at school grades-wise, but he’s smart, and Jaehyun can see that without a shadow of a doubt. He begins to spend more and more time at Doyoung’s apartment to study, sometimes asking questions but mostly enjoying the company.

“Shouldn’t people your age have part-time jobs or something?” Doyoung asks when Jaehyun appears at his door for the third day in a row that week. He’s kidding, of course - Jaehyun could do simple tasks like running a cash register, but his parents are just as careful as he is and insist that he take this time off to heal peacefully.

Jaehyun leans in for a kiss and Doyoung meets him halfway as he shuts the door. “I never see you working,” he teases back against Doyoung’s lips.

Doyoung hesitates and Jaehyun immediately senses the change in atmosphere.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pulling back to hold Doyoung’s hand, balancing textbooks in his other arm. “Should we not talk about it?”

Doyoung reaches forward and takes one of Jaehyun’s books so he’s putting less strain on his upper body. “I’ve been on personal leave for a long time,” he replies vaguely.

Jaehyun doesn’t press because he understands.  
  
  
  
  
One evening, both of them come to the subconscious conclusion that it’s time.

Jaehyun gives up for the night and pushes his notes aside and leans his head on the coffee table, and Doyoung reaches over from his spot on the couch to ruffle his hair. They stay like that for a while, Jaehyun breathing evenly, eyes shut, as Doyoung strokes slowly through his locks. Jaehyun mumbles something into his arm and Doyoung laughs.

“Use your words,” he says, rubbing a thumb against one of Jaehyun’s ears.

Jaehyun moves his head just enough to free his mouth. “I said, it’s the first time I’m feeling like this with a new heart.”

Doyoung’s fear threatens to wash over his body again, but it’s held back by a dam of butterflies. “Feeling like what?” he dares to ask.

Jaehyun picks his head up off the table and looks at Doyoung with a hopeful expression edging on uncertainty and that’s all it takes for Doyoung to pull Jaehyun onto the couch with him in a hurried, messy kiss. Jaehyun is young and eager, panting into the kiss as his hands roam Doyoung’s body. He mouths down Doyoung’s neck, tongue hot against his skin, and Doyoung’s lungs try to keep hold of the breath being sucked out of them.

Doyoung fumbles for Jaehyun’s hem and begins to lift his shirt, but then Jaehyun is grabbing his wrists and the air between them stills. Carefully, Doyoung moves one of his hands to Jaehyun’s face and cups his cheek, stroking with his thumb for minutes until Jaehyun releases his grip.

“Do you want to keep it on?” Doyoung asks gently.

“I think so.”

“That’s okay.”

Doyoung pulls Jaehyun into a gentler kiss, body tingling at the long-missed intimacy. He urges Jaehyun up and guides him to the bedroom. As soon as they step through the doorway together an influx of emotions swarms in Doyoung’s head, but he ignores it. Jaehyun is caressing him so tenderly, touching him with so much affection-- they need this.

They fall into bed and make quick work of their clothes, sans Jaehyun’s shirt, and Jaehyun may be self conscious about his own scar, but that doesn’t stop him from worshipping Doyoung’s chest, mouth glossing over every unseen scar embedded deep under his skin. Doyoung holds Jaehyun close and shuts his eyes. He needs this.

 

The bed always was meant for two.  
  
  
  
  
Doyoung wakes slowly the next day, consciousness coming to life while his eyes remain shut tight. He shivers in the cool morning breeze coming through the window, but he can’t be bothered to get up and close it. Belatedly, he realizes that he’s resting next to a warm, comforting body, and snuggles closer to it under the blankets. He shifts until his head finds a pillow in a soothing chest and the heartbeat quietly thumping against his cheek lulls him back into drowsiness.

It’s a heartbeat he knows - steady, loving, reminiscent of home. He smiles to himself and kisses the chest, right beneath a collarbone.

“Morning,” a voice, rough with sleep and unique to its owner, whispers to him.

Doyoung opens his eyes and looks up and, oh, that’s right. “Jaehyun,” he says, and it isn’t the revelation of who he spent the night with that scares him, but the fact that he doesn’t mind it.

Jaehyun pulls Doyoung forward enough to kiss his forehead and the way he looks at Doyoung with so much adoration in his eyes, so much naive devotion for no one else but him, tugs and tugs at Doyoung’s throat until words come spilling out of his mouth, unable to be held back any longer.

“I can’t do this.”

It isn’t fair to drop this on Jaehyun so carelessly - not after a night of sweet murmurs and passionate moans shared between kisses; not when neither of them have fully left the clutches of sleep - but Doyoung can’t stop now.

“I’m so sorry, Jaehyun, I-- This was a mistake.” He pushes himself up in bed and suddenly it’s too big again and he can’t find a way out.

Jaehun holds one of his hands, firm but not harsh. “Wait, Doyoung,” he says, frowning. “What? What’s going on?”

Doyoung shakes his head and he wants to look away, but his eyes are glued to Jaehyun’s. “I haven’t been honest-- no, I lied. I lied. My name is Dongyoung, Jaehyun. I’m that Dongyoung. Fuck, you don’t deserve this.” He runs his free hand over his face and through his hair, panic coursing through his body in droves. “I didn’t mean to-- this wasn’t supposed to happen. I shouldn’t have let it. I’m so fucking sorry.”

He can only watch as Jaehyun’s expression morphs from confusion to shock before it breaks into pain. Jaehyun releases his hand and Doyoung presses both palms against his eyes.

“I didn’t want to talk to you. I hated that you were alive and he wasn’t. I wanted to ignore everything about you but I got drunk and replied to your letter and--”

“You were drunk,” Jaehyun repeats, a sardonic scoff in his voice that Doyoung had never heard before.

“I should have stopped my letter from going through but-- _fuck_ , I was so desperate for any part of him and I just let you send me email after email. And I wanted to keep hating you so bad, but I found out who you were and I saw your photos…” Doyoung can feel tears leaking from beneath his hands and dripping down his face. “Then I didn’t know how to get through a day without seeing how you were doing. I thought you were…”

“You thought I was him.” Jaehyun’s voice would sound normal to anyone else, but Doyoung can hear the hurt tearing through his throat.

“I got worried when I couldn’t see your pictures anymore and I went to that class… That stupid fucking class. It wasn’t fate, Jaehyun, it was me.” He can’t hold his arms up anymore and lets his hands fall against the mattress, fingers digging into the sheets, head bent low. “I didn’t know how to tell you-- I still don’t know how to tell you. This is so fucked up and I can’t keep lying to you because I--”

He stops himself before saying anything he doesn’t deserve to say, but Jaehyun knows him too well.

“You what?” he asks. He grabs one of Doyoung’s wrists and his voice cracks. “You what, Doyoung?”

Doyoung’s shoulders shudder, but when he raises his head and sees Jaehyun crying - that’s what breaks him the most. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. Jaehyun is still gripping his wrist. With his free hand, Doyoung reaches up and touches quivering fingers to Jaehyun’s cheek. “I’m so, so sorry.” He kisses him slowly, tears mingling between their skin. “I’m sorry.” Another kiss, and another, and another. Foreheads pressed together, they both cling on to the last bits of what they had until it’s all faded away and they’re left with nothing but the rotten truth sitting heavy between them.

“It… It’s okay,” Jaehyun tries to say. He always wants to be so good.

Doyoung shakes his head. “You need time to take it in,” he knows. “Stay. I’ll… I’ll go.”

Jaehyun’s eyebrows pinch in. “This is your place,” he says. “You shouldn’t…”

“I can’t be here,” Doyoung says. “And you shouldn’t be forced out, you-- you did nothing wrong. Your only mistake was trusting me.”

Jaehyun lets him go easily, not making any move to hold him back as he sits frozen in bed. It seems odd, Doyoung leaving Jaehyun in his home while he runs away, but nothing about this situation is conventional, not even in its pain. Doyoung dresses quickly and hesitates in the doorway, but he doesn’t look back.  
  
  
  
  
It’s ridiculous to expect Jaehyun to still be there that night, but Doyoung’s heart still sinks ever further when he returns from Taeyong’s arms and his apartment is empty and cold.  
  
  
  
  
He thought admitting his lie to Jaehyun would be the hard part, but that doesn’t compare to living among the aftermath of his decisions. Everywhere he turns, he sees signs of Jaehyun - in the varsity jacket that had found its way into his closet, making a home there amongst his own clothes; in the healthy food stocked in his kitchen, overtaking chips and cheap sushi that Jaehyun always grimaced at; in the CDs stacked neatly along shelves in the living room, organized in a way that only Jaehyun understood because only he still cared about collecting the jewel cases. The candles in the bathroom, the sticky notes on the fridge, the lingering fragrance on the couch - all of it was Jaehyun, and Jaehyun only.

No, the confession was the easy part. What hurts most is knowing that, somewhere along the line, Doyoung had long passed the part where Hansol ended and Jaehyun began.  
  
  
  
  
They don’t call or text or even email. It’s not Doyoung’s place to ask for forgiveness and he doesn’t pry. Weeks go by and he spends them thinking - thinking about Jaehyun; thinking about himself; thinking about how he got to this screwed up place. It’s all his fault, he knows. He tried to take the easy way out and use someone else to blind himself from the truth. Even if he’d admitted who he was at that very first cooking class, it wasn’t right. He should have responded to Jaehyun’s emails or dropped the matter altogether. He thinks about telling Jaehyun every way he knows he fucked up and apologizing for them one by one, but that would only benefit his own guilt. It wouldn’t take back what he did.

And so he decides to move on.

Monday morning, he steps into the lobby of a design firm that feels both foreign and like it's been waiting for him. The decor is ever evolving, but the atmosphere hasn’t changed. He approaches the front desk and is met with stares from passing employees - he hadn’t told anyone he’d be stopping by, after all.

“Doyoung!” the receptionist gasps, louder now than he ever is on the phone.

“Hi, Jungwoo.”

Jungwoo scrambles from behind the stylish office space and pulls Doyoung into a hug. Doyoung missed Jungwoo’s hugs.

“You’re back!” Jungwoo pulls away and looks at him with wide eyes. “You’re back, right?”

Doyoung gives him a half-hearted smile. “I don’t know,” he says. “I thought I’d ask the boss, but I’ve been away for so long…”

Jungwoo reaches down and holds Doyoung’s hands in a soft, assuring grasp. He smiles. “We saved your desk for you.”  
  


⇀ ♡ ↼

  
  
The year after splitting with Jaehyun isn’t easy, but Doyoung makes it through.

They did finally talk about a month after everything went down (on the phone because Jaehyun was busy starting up school again, but Doyoung is kind of glad for that), and it went as expected. At the end of the day, they’re both rational people - save for Doyoung’s very irrational charade - and they saw the breakup coming. Apologies were said, tears were shed, and Doyoung hung up two hours later feeling refreshed.

His return to employment was a little difficult, but his work family guided him through the transition and he soon began to navigate adult life once again. (It was about time - he hated dipping into his savings and being supported by his family for so long). He got closer to Jungwoo, who helped him the most through all his job-related and personal stressors, and cherished him as a great companion, and then as a lover. They were happy for a while, but Doyoung’s heart couldn’t remain in it, and Jungwoo respected that. Now, Doyoung can add a new lifelong friend into his circle.

He sees a therapist and explores new hobbies. He finds ways to keep life interesting for his own sake. Jungwoo even gets him into meditation, which Yuta finds hilarious despite occasionally tagging along for a class. He cooks, he cleans regularly, and he takes up singing at open mic nights on weekends. He learns to live without Hansol or Jaehyun.

Most days are easy now, but he can’t be strong for all of them.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come by?” Taeyong asks over the phone.

Doyoung tastes one of his spaghetti noodles and decides to leave the water boiling for a few more minutes. “I’m sure,” he says, leaning against the kitchen counter. “You’re the only surgeon on staff tonight. Those puppies need you.”

“Do you need me?” Taeyong asks gently. Behind him, dogs begin to bark, probably miffed at being ignored for a whole minute.

“I’m fine,” Doyoung says. “Mostly. I don’t know. I’m probably just gonna eat dinner and read before bed. He never liked a big deal being made of things.”

Taeyong laughs softly and a toy jingles as he talks. “No, he didn’t. Well, you’re welcome to come by the clinic and play with some animals if you want.”

Doyoung cringes. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Doyoung tucks his phone into his pocket and dishes out his dinner. It’s only 5 and he doesn’t usually eat this early, but he needed something to do to keep his mind occupied. He sits at the cramped dining room table with two chairs and stares idly at a framed photo, once hidden but now standing proudly on the table in front of him, as he twirls pasta onto his fork. He holds the steaming forkful up in a small cheers.

“Happy birthday, babe.”  
  
  
  
  
Around 10, Doyoung begins to crave something sweet. He enjoys desserts but he was never the type to _crave_ them like Taeyong or Ten, and yet his current urge for sugar has him tapping his foot against the floor incessantly. He glances up at another photo of Hansol and laughs.

“Alright, I’ll have cake for you.”

As he buttons a thick peacoat around his body and wraps a scarf around his neck, Doyoung wonders where to go. A convenience store is, well, the most convenient, but a special day calls for a special treat. A pause, and then he’s off, heading purposefully out into the brisk November night.

Lights lining the sides of the street compete with the moon and the stars to illuminate the autumn landscape. Couples are still out at this time, and only a few families. It’s as if everyone can sense the approaching holiday season and their spirits are already filling the air with infectious happiness. Doyoung smiles to himself as he treks to a familiar bakery, unvisited in a long time but brimming with meaningful memories. He hopes they still have Hansol’s favorite cheesecake.

An old brass bell chimes as Doyoung opens the door to the small shop and sweet and spicy smells immediately waft around his entire body. The owner isn’t working tonight but that’s okay - Doyoung knows she’d recognize him and pull him into endless conversation, and he enjoys how quiet his night has been so far. He approaches the counter and orders one slice of lemon raspberry cream cheesecake (and a few chocolate chip cookies for good measure) from the young girl at the register and begins to glance around for an ideal place to sit. The great thing about this place is that they bake their cookies made-to-order, and it’s well worth the wait. Doyoung licks his lips just thinking about the chocolate oozing onto his fingers until he locks eyes with one of the few other patrons in the building. He takes a step forward and the man stands.

“Doyoung.”

“Jaehyun?”

The girl taps Doyoung on the shoulder and hands him his cheesecake and he fumbles over a thank you before turning back around quickly, as if Jaehyun would have vanished into thin air in that short amount of time.

He didn’t.

Jaehyun looks familiar, like a fond memory, but he’s changed. He must have started exercising regularly again because his face trimmed down and Doyoung can tell, even covered in a turtleneck sweater, that his body is lacking baby fat. His hair is a lighter caramel brown now. Most noticeably, his aura feels more mature, like he lived just as much as Doyoung had this past year.

Doyoung opens his mouth - to say what, he doesn’t know - but Jaehyun talks first.

“Do you want to sit with me?”

Doyoung can’t get any words out and the girl at the register taps his shoulder again to hand him his cookies and he winds up speaking gibberish in return, earning a confused look from the poor worker. When he faces Jaehyun again, that sweet dimpled smile is beaming back at him. His feet take him to Jaehyun’s table of their own accord and he thinks - fears - that the conversation will be awkward and emotionally charged, but to his surprise, it’s fine.

It turns out they did both live a lot since they parted ways, and it was clearly for the better. Jaehyun sips at his coffee as he regails Doyoung with stories of rejoining acapella and learning to live like a regular student again. His animated hand motions as he recalls funny stories with friends puts smiles on both of their faces. Doyoung shares what’s been keeping him busy and he ends up mentioning Jungwoo, but Jaehyun doesn’t seem to mind. He remarks that he dated a nice girl for a couple months but it fizzled fast, and Doyoung finds himself not minding either.

“I’m happy for you,” Doyoung says after his last bite of cake. “You… you really came into your own. It sounds like you aren’t so worried about your identity anymore.”

Jaehyun looks up at that and Doyoung sees recognition in his eyes. “You remembered.”

“Of course I did,” Doyoung says. He pushes crumbs around on his plate with his fork. “It was something important to you.”

They sit in comfortable silence and neither of them bother checking how much time goes by. Occasionally the brass bell on the door will jingle as customers come and go, and fresh smells fill the warm, toasty air, but their table feels like its own little world, separate from everything going on around them by a bubble of history and feelings.

“I thought about you a lot,” Jaehyun finally says. “About everything.”

Doyoung’s fork stills.

“I forgive you.”

Doyoung begins to shake his head. “You shouldn’t--”

“I do,” Jaehyun insists, voice gentle but sure. “What you went through… I can’t understand that, so how can I hate you for it? You came clean in the end, and you’ve owned up to your mistakes. You’ve grown, clearly.” He rubs a thumb over the rim of his empty mug. “And you loved me.”

Doyoung’s breath catches in his throat.

“You did, didn’t you?” Jaehyun asks. “At first I was a substitute but things changed.” He reaches forward and wraps Doyoung’s hands in warm palms. “And I loved you.” He smiles and his ears go red, finally giving away his boyish charm. “I probably still do.”

Doyoung maneuvers their hands so their fingers lace together. “No,” he says. “Back then… it wasn’t good. It wasn’t a good love.” He locks eyes with Jaehyun and sees a second chance of his own.

“But this one can be.”

**Author's Note:**

> first and foremost, thank you to the mods for being so patient with me! i'm very happy to have been able to complete this fic and participate in a dojae fest despite everything life was throwing at me at the time. for my prompter, i hope this pleases you! i was drawn to all the possibilities that came with your prompt and if you think i was able to do it justice, the effort was all worth it~
> 
> also, to dia who said that this title would be funny because this took me so long to write: honestly, valid.
> 
>  
> 
> say hi!  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/negibun) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/negibun)  
> 


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